


Caught in the Crossfire

by Writerz_Block



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Military, Anya & Lexa (The 100) Are Siblings, Blood, Clexa, Clexa Endgame, Death, Desperation, Doctor Clarke, Endgame Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Explosions, F/F, F/M, Hope, Loss, M/M, Mental Health Awareness, Military Police, Overseas, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad Lexa, Soldiers, Undying Love, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-03-28 20:06:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13911213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writerz_Block/pseuds/Writerz_Block
Summary: The setting takes place in the modern world. It is a military, war based story. It will be comprised of pain, suffering, death, fear, devastation and all things that make up a war.The primary phrase I am working with is, "There is no such thing as a victor in war."ClarkeThe sky was darkening overhead, a foreboding sensation seeking refuge in her gut. It felt like a hand was squeezing her insides, cutting off the oxygen to her lungs. Her heart hammered fiercely within her chest and echoed in her head. She looked to the heavens, silently pleading for help. All she received was a starless night, the moon hidden behind monstrous, threatening clouds.LexaNo. That was the only thought that she could process. She sat on the couch, their couch, in their home. Her eyes remained glued to the television. The news anchor had just moved on to the next story, promising an update as more information was received. The images that had flashed on the screen were now permanently burned into her retinas, scorching her mind and searing her heart.





	1. What is Hell?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MusicLurv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicLurv/gifts).



> This is an AU that a fellow writer, MusicLurv, inspired me to write. If you have not read her work, by golly go look her up. She is INCREDIBLE! 
> 
> This is a very short chapter, but I wanted to see how well it was accepted before I delved deeper into the story line.
> 
> This is my first time working with this type of AU, but it is a topic I am quite familiar with and passionate about. Let me know what you think, if I should continue on with the story.

**Clarke**

            The sky was darkening overhead, a foreboding sensation seeking refuge in her gut. It felt like a hand was squeezing her insides, cutting off the oxygen to her lungs. Her heart hammered fiercely within her chest and echoed in her head. She looked to the heavens, silently pleading for help. All she received was a starless night, the moon hidden behind monstrous, threatening clouds.

            Clarke brought her knees to her chest as the first streak of lightening lit up the night. The boom that followed shook the ground, a mirror to the turmoil brewing within. Slowly, deliberately, the young soldier made her way back to her tent, her rifle slung precariously over her shoulder. She had just made it to the small space, safety, before large drops of rain pelted against the thin, flimsy material.

            It was just another night in Hell. The sound of the rain and angry shouts of thunder was not enough to mask the sounds that plagued her, even in her dreams. Gunfire. Bombs. The screams. Oh, the never-ending turret of heart wrenching screams. There is no such thing as a victor of war.

 

**Lexa**

            No. That was the only thought that she could process. She sat on the couch, their couch, in their home. Her eyes remained glued to the television. The news anchor had just moved on to the next story, promising an update as more information was received. The images that had flashed on the screen were now permanently burned into her retinas, scorching her mind and searing her heart.

            Anya, her sister and a Captain in her wife’s unit, sat next to her, silent. Her stoic features spared no hint of emotion, but her eyes never left the screen either. Hesitantly, she reached for the remote, rewinding the last minute of the newscast. Before hitting play, she chanced a glance at her little sister, a silent question lingering between them. Lexa never looked her way, but she gave the slightest of nods. With permission, the soldier hit play, allowing the horrific scene to be played once more.

             The soldiers on the screen looked like scattered ants, the aerial view not doing them any justice. Shrouds of color lit up the sky, forcing the earth to turn from night to day. Hues of oranges, yellows and reds danced across the terrain, its beauty leaving nothing but devastation in its path. The sounds were the worst.

            Amidst the sounds of heavy rain, hundreds of screams shattered the serene night, as bomb after bomb plummeted from the sky and into their camp. There was the sound of a whistle before the explosion of a successful impact. Dirt flew in every direction as the enemy carved holes where tents and trees used to be. The last sounds to be heard were that of fighter jets soaring in the opposite direction, the enemy leaving behind what they were sure to count as a victory.

            But Lexa and Anya both knew, there are no victors in war.


	2. What's in a Battle?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story goes back six years. It establishes how Clarke and Lexa met, and it's not in the usual way that I have seen portrayed in most Clexa series. There is paintball and the battle of a lifetime. Who will come out victorious?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this one actually took me quite a while to write out, but I am really proud of the end result. I mixed some of my own personal experiences with that of the characteristics we have grown to love about our beloved characters. Let me know your views.

**_6 Years Ago_ **

****

**Clarke**

       Women weren’t allowed in the infantry unit, political leaders claiming that it would be a liability. Still, Clarke was a proud 68W, a combat medic specialist who was training to become a combat surgeon. Yet, just because her hands were created to heal and save lives, didn’t mean that they didn’t hold the ability to take life as well. Clarke was an expert shot, qualifying every time. Nobody could match her, not even the cocky men who said she just got lucky. She was intelligent too. She had the ability to size up a situation and generate and execute the best plan, given the circumstances.

       “We will come at them from the skies! Hellfire will rain down upon them and we will be victorious!” Clarke shouted out to her comrades. “We are better trained in combat. They will never know what hit them!”

         The shouts of her soldiers echoed towards the clouds, “Skaikru! Skaikru! Skaikru!” their fists pumping in the air. “Hooah!” They finished before slinging arms and preparing their weapons for the battle to come.

       The nickname had come from other units when practicing battle strategies. Quickly into boot camp, Clarke learned it was easier to hit a target when you had an aerial view. The first time Clarke led her team to battle was during a field test. The objective was to eliminate all threats. It sounds easy enough, but they were to attempt to eliminate the cadre, members of the Army who had been in for over a decade and were damn good at what they did, survive. They had 24 hours to set up camp and formulate a strategic plan before initiating war.

       Along with her team leaders, a plan was formulated and explained to the rest of the team. The following morning into the late afternoon, her squad executed those plans to perfection. Reyes, her units lead and youngest mechanic, who could fix everything from a heart rate monitor to a Humvee or tank, had to create a distraction. And oh man did she ever! Reyes had created a device that could be shot out of one of the grenade launchers but upon impact would explode, drenching everything within its impact in bright pink paint.

       The paint grenade worked like a charm. The threat scampered towards them, drawn to the sound and the sight of the florescent dye. Clarke waited patiently, lost behind the branches and leaves of a nearby tree. Other members of her team waited likewise, whilst others waited atop rock formations that only a skilled climber could ascend. Once enough of the cadre were within the kill zone, Clarke yelled out, “Now!”

       All at once, the woods were full of noise. The shouts of confused cadre scaring the birds from their nests. Men and women ran in all directions, trying to secure some degree of safety, but it was all for not. Paintballs flew from every direction, hitting their targets, sometimes more than once. One by one, the elite commanders sank to their knees, the sign of a death shot. It took a couple more hours to hunt down the rest of the stragglers, but they came out victorious and without a single casualty. Hence then, they had become known as the Skaikru, because they attacked from above and you never saw it coming.

       Everyone huddled together, eager to hear of Clarke’s newest plan. Their reputations were on the line, for they were about to face their strongest opponent yet. In a hushed voice, Clarke explained their strategy, answering questions along the way. Everyone nodded in agreement, thinking that this was her most brilliant plan yet. Although they themselves had never experienced defeat, neither had their opponent, but that was about to change.

 

**Anya**

“Today, they leave the battlefield with casualties, and their pride in ruins. Today, they experience defeat! For they do not know the terrain like we do. We do not hide from our prey! No, we will seek them out from the ground like a true warrior! What do you say?” The Lieutenant shouted with conviction and purpose? “What are we?”

            “Grounders!” The hoard cried as one.

            “And who are we?” Anya called out, her voice an octave lower than usual.

            “Trikru! Trikru! Trikru!” Their chant forming into that of solidarity. “Hooah!” They finished, high fiving and slapping one another one the back.

            Anya was the proud leader of a great team. Her warriors were skilled in hand-to-hand combat. They were quiet and elusive, using the terrain as a canvas to annihilate their enemies, painting their defeat into the earth. They had never experienced defeat, and today would be no different. The skilled combatants knew nothing of their enemy, only that they had an undefeated record as well. Yet, they had never come across an enemy they could not overthrow.

            With the cry of a soulful warrior, the Lieutenant threw her head back towards the heavens and roared, “Jus drein jus daun!” The soldiers around her joining in just as forcefully, blood calling for blood.

            Anya was the fiercest 31B, military police officer, her unit had ever seen. She was strictly by the books and expected the same of the soldiers she led. Her face remained stoic, many convinced that this woman was unable to feel emotion, to express sympathy and empathy. This attribute made her phenomenal at interrogations. Within minutes, she could have the largest, biggest, baddest terrorist quaking in his boots, bending and yielding beneath her glare.

       Rarely did she ever take a day off from her duties. In her eyes, a soldier never stops being a soldier. Instead of lazy days, Anya would conduct hand-to-hand combat classes and when she wasn’t teaching them, she was attending. Rarely would anybody challenge her to a spar, but each new group that passed through had at least one macho guy that had something to prove. She taught these men how to respect a commanding officer from the flats of their backs.

       “Prepare for battle, grounders!” The fierce competitor shouted. Her warriors nodded as one before turning away to their individual interest. Some meditated, calming their nerves and clearing their minds. Others checked over their weapons, cleaning and prepping them. Some checked their inventory, running through the checklist in their minds. Some of her cockier soldiers rough housed with one another, placing a comrade in a headlock before a buddy came to his aid. Anya knew everybody had their own way of preparing and she didn’t care, so long as the end result was a victory.

       Once dawn was before them, Anya led her team deep into the forest. A large, marred oak tree stood out amongst the others. She decided this would be the best rendezvous point. With a practiced hand, she snapped a green glow stick and threw it into the branches. It was no shock that it found homage, tangled in one of the utmost branches and visible from just about every angle. With the flourish of her hand, the Lieutenant signaled to her soldiers to take their post. It was time for war.

 

            It was the longest, most intense battle the unit had ever witnessed. You would have thought this was a real war, the way each team reacted and counteracted. Both sides experienced casualties, soiling their pristine reputations. Each team stuck to their usual strategy. Clarke’s team attacked from the treetops and higher vantage points. Anya’s group lured them out into the open, avoiding the cascade of paintballs directed at them. There, they utilized their combat skills, their plastic knives coated in paint striking down even the largest of brutes.

            In the end, it was two on two. It was Clarke and Reyes against Anya and Lincoln, her second in command and most disciplined warrior. The grounders were deathly quiet, their steps never making a sound. Meanwhile, Skaikru made apparent their unwavering patience. It was a stalemate, neither side wishing to give up their comfort zone, not with victory so close. It remained this way until night had fallen. The darkness marking every shadow as a threat.

            A sound echoed in the silence of the night, a twig snapping. It was too heavy to have been a deer, but the darkness was too overwhelming. It had a way of altering the senses, and neither team had ever had to play for this long. A shadow passed in front of the great oak tree and Reyes leapt from the nearest tree. The sound of shots being fired rang into the emptiness of the trees. A pair of grunts and curses echoed, bouncing into the abyss as knees sank to the ground. Both Reyes and Lincoln were out. And then there were two.

            It was only minutes after, that Clarke fell from the treetops, only to land directly on top of her enemy. Actually, she tried to stifle a sneeze and the amount of effort it took to conceal it threw off her balance and out of the tree, an admission that would come to light over drinks the next day. Spotlights sprang on, rendering them both helpless for several moments, their night vision shattered. Their chain of command was there to witness the finale, as was the ghosts of their fallen comrades.  

            Clarke quickly got to her feet, not wanting to give her enemy an opportunity to spring. The girl in front of her was quick, and deadly, the promise of a fight to the death filled her hazel eyes. Clarke’s own azure eyes swam with anticipation, the ocean within them threatening to come crashing down. She was immobile, but not stiff, prepared.

            Anya pulled her knife from its sheath at her hip, her hand firm on the grip and the blade pointed in Clarke’s direction. Just as quickly, the blue eyed soldier slung her rifle over her shoulder, getting a familiar grip. Anya lunged, ferociously, aiming her blade at the kill zone within the center of Clarke’s chest. Clarke barely had time to react. She threw her arm into the air, connecting her forearm to Anya’s wrist. The cheering around them grew to inaudible heights, but neither heard anything. They were in their element.

            Anya spun, not phased by Clarke’s deflective move. At the exact moment that her knife found home in Clarke’s chest, a gunshot sounded in the night. Both stumbled away, eyes wide like deer caught in the headlights. Clarke looked down to see the name on her uniform smeared with a florescent green pain, striking her directly in the heart. Anya too glanced down, pain searing through her chest. She had never been shot, especially not from such a close range. Still, she could not deny the fact that a large, bright pink hole had been blown into her heart. As one, they sank to their knees.

            A tie. There was no victor in this war, and no team left unmarred.

            The following night, the teams met up for drinks at a local bar near the base. It was then that Anya and Clarke got to know one another. They quickly discovered that they were both from the same town and that they had both intended to go home on the next rotation out. Beyond that night, their friendship only further developed. A year later, they found themselves in the same unit, both receiving a promotion and building upon their reputations as officers.

            On their rotation home, Anya introduced Clarke to her little sister, Lexa. When Lexa approached her about dating Clarke, Anya was a bit hesitant. She knew that the Army was Clarke’s life and she didn’t want her little sister to be second to anybody, or anything. Against her better judgment, she couldn’t deny the happiness that her comrade brought her sister. In the end, she gave them her blessing and they were married two years later. They had been sister’s in arms before but now, now they truly were family, and nothing comes between family.


	3. What's in a Name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What has happened? Does anybody know? Lexa and Anya comfort one another with what little news they have to work with.

**Lexa**

 

            “Anya, will you please stop pacing. You’re going to wear holes in my carpet.” I knew it wasn’t true, and I know she was only pacing because she is worried, but dammit, it was stressing me out.

            Anya briefly halted her repetitive march to question, “What would you rather I do, sit down on the couch and watch the same news story play on repeat? Would you rather I sit down and watch over and over again as my unit gets bombed?” Anger flashed within her eyes, causing her fists to furl and unfurl.

            Defeated and not wishing to start a fight, I conceded, “Please, continue on, soldier.”

            Of course, she wouldn’t want to watch the news reel that appeared to be the highlight of every major network, playing on repeat. I couldn’t get the image out of my head either. The sound of the planes flying overhead, dropping bombs on the soldiers below, soldiers that had friends, family and comrades worried sick about them. And what could the news anchors and government tell us? Not a damn thing!

            Anya had made several phone calls to family members and other officer’s in their unit, but to no avail. Everybody was in the same sinking boat with no life jacket, racing heart beats and no answers. How could nobody have any answers? Yes, we are at war, but not a single person saw this coming or has been in contact with anybody on the ground since? I mean, it doesn’t have to go public, but at least let the family members know what is happening.

            Dread was beginning to set in. It chilled me to my core, causing my bones to ache and my teeth to chatter. I wrapped my arms around myself, but they aren’t the arms I needed to find comfort in right now. Clarke. I needed to feel Clarke’s arms around me. I need my wife.

            “I need you, Clarke.” I breathed into the air.

            I hadn’t noticed the tears streaming until Anya knelt in front of me, gently wiping them away. She engulfed me in her arms and reassured me as only a big sister can. “Calm down, Lexa. Clarke is okay. She is probably just busy saving the world right now. You know her, Super Clarke to the rescue.”

            The slight chuckle escaped my lips before I could stop it. That did sound like Clarke. She was always trying to lend a helping hand and be the stopping force to anybody’s pain. Our little group had always joked about Clarke being a superhero, a superhero that carried around a stethoscope and suture kit and was adorned in the colors of the American Red Cross. Why did the world have to be so broken, and why did Clarke have to take it upon herself to try and fix it?

            “Oh God, Anya!” I said, standing quickly and unsteadily to my feet. Anya was quick to follow, her hands grasping my shoulders roughly, willing me to stay on my feet.

            Worried, Anya asked, “What Lexa? What is it?”

            I couldn’t speak. The words simply refused to form, for to speak them would make them true. In truth, there is little room for defiance and without defiance, there is no fight to be had. I wanted to prove that Clarke and Anya were not the only fighters in this family. This family. Our family. The truth.

            Names fell off my tongue, acrid and sour. “Clarke. Raven. Bellamy. Monty. Miller. Lincoln. Octavia. Echo.” I looked at Anya who’s usually stoic face was filled with grief and guilt, her eyes shimmering as tears built at the edges. “Our family, Ahn. Our family was on the ground when those bombs…”

            For the first time in as long as I can remember, I watched the fight die in Anya’s eyes, leaving behind nothing but heart break and devastating defeat. That just made it all the more real. The enemy had just bombed our friends, our entire family, all whilst they were slumbering or on guard detail. Our entire world had just had tons of explosives dumped in their sleeping quarters, on their heads.

            “No… no… no…” Gravity finally taking hold and pulling me hard to my knees.

            Anya pulled me close, squeezing so tightly that she almost made me believe that she could keep me from falling apart by sheer force. We must have sat that way for hours. The light began to drain from the sky, painting the evening with various wisps of pinks, yellows, purples and oranges, all appearing to be as fleeting as my own thoughts.

            Anya had sent me to shower and relax beneath the hot water while she made us something to eat. She promised that it would be something small. So, I padded into the bedroom and walked over to the closet, prepared to look for something comfortable to change into once I was clean. However, what I was not prepared for was the onslaught of memories that hit when I glanced over to Clarke’s side of the closet. Before me, on hangers, was the dress that Clarke wore on our first date, the outfit she wore when we went to my first book signing event and her favorite t-shirt.

            Slowly, as if afraid I would tear the fabric or harm the shirt in anyway, I pulled the ratty, thin material from its hanger and brought it to my face. It smelled of the fabric softener we shared, but Clarke had worn it so much that it always carried a scent with it that was so remarkably hers. I draped it over my shoulder with a pair of Clarke’s comfy sweatpants, pants that she always got on to me for stealing, when she was home, before trudging off to the bathroom.

            I stepped out of the shower feeling much more relaxed than I had anticipated. The heat had helped to relax aching muscles and calm a racing mind and being in one of Clarke’s favorite outfits made me feel closer to her. Of course, the smell of macaroni and cheese helped too. It was our comfort food, one that we relied heavily upon after our parents died.

            However, all that newfound comfort and hope evaporated the moment I set foot in the kitchen. Anya stood with her back to me, but I watched as she lowered the cell phone that had been held up to her ear only moments ago to the counter, her grip on it turning her knuckles to a ghostly white. No audible sounds could be heard, but it was impossible to deny the way her shoulders slumped forward, her head fell, and her body wracked with silent compulsions. She had gotten news, and it clearly wasn’t good news.


	4. What is Loss?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa gets news, but it is the news that nobody ever wants to receive.

**Lexa**

            Fighting for air, I felt my strength leave my body, taking along with it my will to live. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t feel. No. No. No. This was not happening. It couldn’t be. The walls around me spun in a dizzying dance, the colors blending and mixing together until they became one; black. I fell into the abyss, willing it to take me home, to take me to Clarke.

            I awoke to darkness, the blackout curtains shutting out even the smallest ray of light. It seemed fitting, as there was no light left in my world. Not anymore. I extended my arm, reaching for the opposite side of the bed. It was empty. It would always be empty. Never again would I hold her in my arms at night, staying awake to protect her from the images she saw behind closed eyelids. Never again would I hear her snoring and try to tune it out, so I could get some sleep of my own. Never again would I wake up to see the sunlight pouring in, alighting her in a beautiful glow that took my breath away each morning. Never again would I kiss her lips, wishing her a good morning or hoping for a good night.

 _Never again. Never again. Never again._ Those two words echoed in my head, a mantra of loss. 

            Rolling onto my side, I pulled Clarke’s pillow to my chest, burying my face in the fabric that still smelled like her. How many nights had I clung to this very pillow, taking in her scent and willing for her to come home to me? There were countless nights I prayed to the heavens, offering up my own soul if it meant that she would return home and not leave again. This is not what I meant. This was a cruel twist of fate, of the words I had uttered in those moments of fear and despair.

            Now, I cried out to the heavens, cursing the name I had called upon when all hope seemed lost. “Is this some kind of cruel joke,” I asked, the tears falling in steady streams. “You send her home to me in a casket? With a flag for a country who doesn’t even know her name, that will forget about her when more exciting news happens? What kind of God are you, to take the life of a woman who has spent her entire life saving the lives of others? She has a family, friends… me….”

            Grief choked me. Despair filled me. My mind had long since numbed, unable to process the sheer heartache of losing the only woman I had ever loved, the only woman who had ever truly loved me. The tears blinded me but couldn’t wash away the memory of ocean blue eyes staring back into mine. She always looked so serious, like she had the weight of the world resting on her shoulders. Yet, there were moments when she would let her defenses down and give me the privilege of seeing a glimpse of the woman I fell in love with, the woman she was before this stupid war tore her away from me. It was those eyes, so gentle, that softened the features of her face, that I remembered as I clung to her pillow for dear life. I remembered that sparkle.

            I welcomed the darkness that engulfed me, freeing me from the torment of memories, memories I was terrified would fade with the passing of time. Unfortunately, my fears were not to be left behind, for they followed swiftly behind me. The images, however unwelcome, were vivid and horrendous.

            _Before me stood the proudest, strongest woman I had ever laid eyes on. The sound of exploding bombs and gunfire resonated in the air. Sand, shrapnel and blood flew through the air, staining and shredding everything in its path. Still, she remained where she was, her voice heard above the chaos around her. She was ordering her soldiers into a cement like building, clearly trying to get them to safety._

_I screamed at her, begging her to seek refuge herself, but my pleas fell on deaf ears. The explosions were falling closer to her now, but she took quick, determined strides towards her fallen comrades, looping their arm over her shoulders and helping them to safety. I cried, asking her to please stay with them, but she didn’t. Onward she continued, helping one soldier to safety after another, until she couldn’t anymore._

_I watched the explosive fall in slow motion. I willed my feet to move, to place myself between her and it, but they just sunk deeper and deeper into the sand. I thrashed and reached out to Clarke, screaming for her to watch out. Again, my words failed to reach her and all I could do was watch. All I could do was watch as the explosive made impact with the ground. It exploded on contact, a small flame flickering in its center before expanding outward, shattering its shell into thousands of pieces._

_The first of the shards hit her in the back of the leg, forcing her momentum to carry her forward and into the sand, the soldier on her shoulder following her down. She sank to her knees, pain and shock etched into her features. Within moments, she was back on her feet, determination clearly marked on her face. Not determination to keep herself alive, but to save the life of the soldier clinging to her._

_I couldn’t stop the screams from tearing forth from my throat, only to be lost in the sound of devastation and loss. Another chunk of metal launched itself into her flesh, instantly sending her into the sand once more. As she fell, piece after piece pierced her skin, staining the sands beneath her with her blood. I felt each shard as it tore away at my world, destroying the very essence that had given my life meaning._

_The soldier she had been carrying lay next to her, motionless and devoid of life. Finally, I broke free of my confines and rushed to Clarke's side. Her uniform was littered with holes, the fabric no match for the weapons these cowards used. With shaky, unsteady hands I rolled her onto her back, but I was not prepared for the sight that welcomed me._

_Gone was the calm ocean in her eyes that I was so used to seeing. It was replaced by pale gray, the color of the sky as a terrifying storm rolls in. Pain contorted her face, her body shaking uncontrollably in my arms. Blood seeped from unseen wounds, turning my hands into a bloody nightmare. My chest clenched as she choked on her own blood, causing red rivers to flow from the corners of her mouth. Her breaths were shallow, each inhale painful to watch and every exhale excruciating to hear. The way it gurgled echoing in my ears._

_I cupped her cheeks, beseeching her to stay with me, to fight this. Slowly, she reached up her hand and encompassed mine. For a moment, I saw that sparkle, one that barely made it to her lips, but was there nonetheless._

_“Don’t forget me.”_

         Those words echoed in the room as I startled awake, clutching the blankets like a lifeline. My clothes stuck to me, drenched in sweat. My eyes could barely open, swollen from countless hours of crying. Had I been crying in my sleep? It was just a dream. It was just a dream, I kept repeating to myself. But when I reached for Clarke I realized… it wasn’t just a dream, was it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, this is one of my least viewed stories, but the one that I enjoy writing the most. This was a bit of an intense chapter, but it was necessary to show the pain those at home go through when they lose someone overseas. I truly believe in war, there are no victors. Of course, Clexa is endgame, but so is awareness.


	5. What is in a Life?

**Lexa**

The minutes turned to hours. Hours became days. Days transformed into weeks. In a blur, a year had passed and I was still without the love of my life. Each day, I went through the motions. Get up when the alarm goes off. Take a shower. Put on clothes. Eat breakfast. Go to work. Eat lunch. Work some more. Pick up dinner on the way home. Eat. Change into pajamas. Go to bed and dream of her. Repeat.

Anya pretty much lived with me. That was, until Raven and the others made it safely home. Don’t get me wrong, I am glad that they are home and alive, but she’s not. They all shared stories of Clarke’s heroics, claiming that many more soldiers would have perished in the onslaught, if it hadn’t of been for Clarke. I should be proud of the sacrifices that my soldier made not only for her country, but for the people she called family. Looking at them should make me smile and my chest puff with pride, but it didn’t. All it did was remind me of the fact that they were going on with their lives. Meanwhile, mine was stuck, never moving forward and Clarke’s was over.

For weeks, all I would see when I turned on the television at night was the headline story. The images playing and replaying of that fateful night when fire fell from the sky, scorching our lives forever. Of course, the news reels did become more uplifting as soldiers were found and returned home. Even our family of soldiers made the news.

Lincoln and Octavia came home nearly unscathed, physically. Mentally, they had seen things that no other human being should ever witness. The images of what they saw forever within their minds, threatening to break free at the simplest of sounds or unexpected movement. They smiled for the cameras and posed for pictures, the flag waving proudly in the background. But, it was a rare feat to see them smile outside the presence of the press. One of the most rambunctious couples I have ever seen quickly became one of the quietest and most secluded. I bet if Clarke were here, she could bring them out of their hardened shells.

Harper’s tears of joy shined brightly on the screen as she captured the man of her dreams in her arms, her swollen belly trapped between them. Monty was nothing but smiles then, and it still hasn’t left his face now. He is a man that has truly accepted how blessed he is to still be alive. Three days after his safe return home, little Jasper Jordan was born. That was the happy ending that the world needed to see, and boy did they broadcast it. They received baby gifts and cards out the wazoo from citizens who appreciated the sacrifices he had made and were overjoyed that he had returned home, his child having the opportunity to grow up with his father teaching him the ways of life.

Nathan returned home a little worse for wear. His face was covered in bruises, with one eye being nearly swollen shut. A sling for his arm became a new part of his attire, but he wore it proudly, the blue a stark contrast to the the tans of his ACU’s. The kiss he and Eric shared on national television was one for the books. I don’t think there was a single dry eye within the United States that day. My eyes included. If only for the fact that I wished so badly to have the opportunity to kiss Clarke again. I don’t care if the whole world sees. The moment was made even sweeter when Nathan got down one knee and proposed to his beloved medic. Eric, of course said yes, and the world swooned once more. I smiled and congratulated them, even as my heart broke and shattered.

Echo and Bellamy came home a few weeks after everyone else started to trickle in. Echo had taken a shard of metal to the head. It had taken the surgeons hours to remove, but the operation had been successful. She had just needed time to heal. If you asked her, she was ready to come home the next day, but you know how those stubborn doctors are, and I did. I was married to one for five years. I am married to one. Bellamy had taken a shard to the back, nearly penetrating his spleen. He had gotten lucky, as they all had. The piece was easily removed and he was patched up. He could have come home within the week, but he refused to leave Echo’s side and the doctor’s didn’t have the heart to make him, not after everything he had been through. The press ate up their story as well.

Raven was the last to return home and her delayed return was taking its toll on Anya, and by association, me. The longer it took for her to come home, the more Anya nagged at me. _You have to eat more. You’re starting to lose too much weight. Lexa, when was the last time you bathed? You know, Clarke wouldn’t want you to let yourself go. She could still be out there. They’re finding people every day._ I know it was just her way of “helping” and passing her time until her goofy mechanic returned home as well, but it was all too overwhelming for my poor brain and wounded heart. I was so glad when Raven stepped off that plane and back into Anya’s arms. It was a beautiful sight to behold, one that shook the ground beneath my feet.

It was four months after everyone else had arrived that the sassy Hispanic made her appearance. She stepped off the plane with a few other soldiers that had been recovered and deemed fit to return back to their country, and their loved ones. Raven rocked her crutches like they were the hippest accessory in the fashion world. Her smile beamed brighter than the Summer sun when she set eyes on her favorite leader. She tossed her crutches to the side and allowed Anya to sweep her off her feet, spinning her around in circles, squeals of delight leaving her lips as she smothered the brunette with kisses and affection. Eight months later and Raven still had to wear a knee brace and walked with a permanent limp. The doctors did what they could, including replacing her knee with a metal plate, but it wasn’t enough to keep her in the service and repair all the damage that had been done. The tank that had rolled over on her leg as she was blown out of the way by a nearby explosion had been far more than her body could handle. Some days, the pain was nearly unbearable. She couldn’t walk and she cried tears of frustration and pain, but Anya remained faithfully at her side, massaging it every night and encouraging her when she became discouraged. Clarke would be proud of the success of her best friend.

After a year, there was a ceremony held to honor those that hadn’t returned home. A total of 108 United States soldiers wouldn’t be returning home to their families. Men. Women. Fathers. Mothers. Grandparents. Sisters. Brothers. Aunts. Uncles. Nieces and nephews. Military Police. Cooks. Pilots. Infantry. Medics. Clarke. My Clarke.

Some call it a funeral. Others call it a celebration of life. I call it miserable. Many soldiers and citizens attended, all in their best dress. There was a 21 gun salute that only aided in momentarily hushing the crushing wails of those who were saying goodbye to those whom they should have never had to say goodbye to. That _we_ should never have had to say goodbye to. I was presented a folded flag, as well as a name patch that read **_Griffin_ ** , her company’s insignia, her rank, and a Purple Heart. It was all our country had to offer on behalf of a soldier who had given her all. It wasn’t enough. It never would be.

I need my Clarke. I need her more than I have ever needed another soul. I am an empty shell. I am barely even a human being anymore. My life feels so empty without her in it. I can feel my will to live slipping away. The others encourage me to go to the meetings at the VA for spouses who have lost a loved one to war, but I have no desire to go. I don’t need anyone’s pity. I don’t want to feel anyone’s sorrow filled eyes upon me. I don’t need a stranger’s sympathy. I need my wife.


	6. What Does it Mean to Surrender?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa denies, accepts and breaks.

**Lexa**

 

“Lexa, it’s been a year and a half. Don’t you think it is time to let some of this go?”

Anya’s voice sound strained, but it was an argument we kept having. And she kept losing. Let go of what? Was I really supposed to sort through her clothes, the items that  _ we _ collected over the years? Should I throw out and give away the only part of my life that ever made sense? No. I couldn’t. I couldn’t do that to her. To us.

I tried not to get angry every time this conversation came up, but it’s hard not to. None of them understand. How could they? The person they love came home. The only person they allow to see their soul, know their every flaw was back in their arms. Safe and sound. Their worlds were complete. Mine wasn’t. And it wouldn’t ever be again.

No. They would never understand. Just because their lives were moving forward, it didn’t mean that mine had to. Even if it could. 

Raking my hands down my face, I let out an exasperated huff. “You know I can’t do that, Ahn. And I really wish you would stop asking me. It’s not going to happen. End of discussion.” 

The bed creaked as more weight was added to its worn springs. I could feel the nervous energy radiating from my big sister, like her nerve endings were fraying at the ends. The spark was electrifying, and it wasn’t long before I was fidgeting too. 

“For God’s sake, Anya, spit out whatever is on your mind.” The words left my lips a bit more harshly than intended, but I couldn’t take it anymore. It felt like every fiber of my being was buzzing.

“I just think-,” the waver in her voice didn’t go unnoticed, “if she were here--I don’t think she would want you torturing yourself like this.”

Of course she wouldn’t, because that’s not the type of person Clarke was. If she were here, she would tell me to keep my chin up and keep moving forward. She would insist that I go out more, get out of the house from time to time. But that was the problem. She wasn’t here to tell me those things. With her, I wanted to go out. I wanted to show her off to the world. Because somehow… by some miracle, Clarke Abigail Griffin-Woods had chosen me. 

“But she’s not here,” I shouted as I rose angrily to my feet. I was pissed. It was coming off of me in waves. But dammit, I have every right to be upset. 

Slowly and with deliberate steps, I paced the room from one side to the other. Eight steps from the window to the closet. Six steps from the doorway to the end of the bed. Nine steps from the Clarke’s nightstand to our dresser. With every step, I could feel my temperature rising, threatening to combust any moment from within. 

After several minutes, I spun around and stared daggers at my sister, my fingers curling into tight fists. “You don’t get it, Ahn! None of you do!” The words felt like venom, dripping from my lips. It was the first thing that had felt good in a long time. 

“Then help me understand,” she pleaded, more with her eyes than her words. Desperation consumed her every feature, melding her into the epitome of a concerned big sister. “Please.”

Finally, after a year and a half, something snapped within me. Maybe it was just my anger at the world that had continued to grow as time passed by in slow motion. Perhaps it was the last piece of my beating heart, succumbing to the fight. But more frighteningly, it may have been my last strand of hope, the last fiber of my sanity. 

“You couldn’t possibly understand because Raven came home to you! She may be a little beat up, but she is still here, still alive! You don’t know what it feels like to come home at the end of each day, not sure how you even made it through it! To come home to an empty house. An empty bed. To nothing!” I could feel the tears streaking down my face, but I was helpless to stop them.

My lips trembled and my jaws ached from clenching them so tightly, but I had to press forward. I had to get this out. If not, I really might explode. “A part of me died on that field that night. A large part of me. The most important part of me. My heart,” my voice barely above that of a whisper, “and I’m never going to get it back.”

_ Never.  _

And there it was. Acceptance. She’s gone. She’s really gone. Until that moment, I never realized just how much hope I was clinging to. Hope that they would find her. Hope that she would walk back through those doors. Hope that I hadn’t lost my wife for good. But the truth was, I had. And that realization hurt in a way that words could never describe. Because it felt like I was giving up on her. On us. And Clarke would never do that. She would never give up on me. But the truth is, I’m not as strong as her. I don’t know how to be. She’s the soldier. Not me. Now, I am nothing but the shell of a widow who lost the love of her life to a pointless fucking war. 

“Lexa,” said a voice, breaking her from her devastating and destructive thoughts, “you know that’s not what I mean.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I replied, shaking my head with little to no conviction, “you’re right. Maybe it is time to let some of her stuff go. To let her go.”

“Oh Lexa,” Anya said, rising from the bed and encompassing me in a sisterly hug. 

Within moments, her fingers were delicately wiping away the dam of tears that had broken their barrier. It was long until my shell cracked and I was a weeping mess, curled up on the floor at the foot of my bed. Anya cooed and rocked me gently, never leaving my side. And for once, I was thankful for the company. 

I didn’t want to be alone.

Not now.

Maybe not ever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,
> 
> Sorry for the delay in getting this one up. It is still my favorite story to write, but it is most definitely my least viewed. Still, I will continue writing it. If not for others to enjoy, then because I enjoy it. This was a bit of a sad update, but it should start picking up the next chapter. I have a notebook filled with thoughts on how I wish to see this story evolve and proceed.
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read it.
> 
> As always, kudos, comments and love are always welcome!
> 
> -Sam


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